FLY

fly
he rode a brand new black Harley
and wore a black t shirt
above a pair of jeans
and black boots
his head was shaved
and around it was wrapped
a black bandana
and he had all the looks of
being a real baddass
except that his fly was down
and he didn’t know it.
people he knew came by
and they’d speak for a few minutes
but nobody had the balls to mention it to him
that his fly was all the way down
so they’d go on their way
after awkward conversations
which they spent
trying not to glance down at his open fly.
every time he looked over at me
I’d bite my lip and look away
try not to let him see me laughing
not because I was afraid of him
or what me might do
but it was really the only good thing
I had going on in my life at that moment
while I stood in the doorway
spitting out sunflower seed husks
and checking the occasional ID card
waiting around for one o’clock
when I could go home to sleep the dead sleep
of a bored, exhausted, dog walking poet